


Don’t you even go there

by orphan_account



Series: Whoops you died! [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Doctor dies young. Younger than you’d think. The Master doesn’t take it well, at all. Very canon-divergent - seriously, the Doctor never regenerates once.Or: the Master is sad, River is confused, and Clara is spiteful.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master
Series: Whoops you died! [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712161
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Professor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/kudos if you can! This was a long time in the making.

“Theta?” 

Koschei looked around, trying to find his friend in the classroom, but it was too loud, too busy for him to focus. Or see anything. Ushas was in a different class, and also busy. The teacher (one of the more useless ones) wasn’t paying any attention to them, and somebody had dropped a bomb of some kind, which had released a thick black smoke into the surroundings. He coughed, and waved a hand in front of him to clear the air. It didn’t work.

He tried again. “Theta?” he asked, growing increasingly worried. He caught a flash of blond curls and gangly limbs, and ran in his friend’s direction. In his worry he slammed into a wall, and he felt blood run down his nose. There wasn’t anything he could do, though, so he ignored it. The smoke began to clear, and he _finally_ got a good glimpse of his friend -

Who was lying on the floor, ashen and unmoving. His friend’s eyes were glazed, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing. Koschei blinked. What was happening? Why was Theta so still?

He wiped his sleeve across his face, and it came back damp and covered in blood. Tears had probably mixed with it as well. The students around him had frozen, staring at the boy in front of them, helpless and terrified. Oh, nobody had really liked Theta, but that didn’t mean they wanted him to -

Koschei gulped; the teacher approached his friend apprehensively, and put their head next to Theta’s chest. He tensed, and the teacher’s face fell.

“I don’t hear anything.”

His heartbeat thrummed through his head, louder than ever, and the drums split his already wavering thoughts in two. _One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four._

Before he could say a word, Theta had been sent to hospital.

* * *

He knelt in front of the body, and wiped tears away from his eyes. Clearing his throat, he ran through the speech in his mind. _We are here today to mourn the loss of the beloved Theta Sigma, well-known to most of the Academy, and sorely missed..._

Koschei opened his mouth, but no words came out. The audience looked at him expectantly. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the connection between his brain and his mouth seemed to have vanished. Gulping, he raised his head, and tried again. What came out was nothing like what he’d prepared.

“This wasn’t fair. Time Lords are meant to live for millennia. Thousands upon thousands of years. He was - my friend, he was _seventeen._ Young by any planet’s standards, let alone Gallifrey! Why did Theta, of all people, die? He was young, and fit, and practically in perfect condition. Death chose to claim him, of all people? Because of some failed lab experiment, and a hearts attack? Are we really so stupid we cannot keep a single class alive? We deserved better than this. _He_ deserved better than this. This loss will not be in vain. I refuse to let this death be meaningless.”

He collapsed, knees giving way with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in weeks - not at all. Not between the guilt, and the anger, and the all-consuming grief. Somebody hauled him off the stage, but he was too tired to notice. Let them take him.

* * *

“What do you mean, he’s gone? I told you to look after him!”

Ushas sighed. First Theta, then Koschei, in the space of three weeks. Three short weeks, in which two of her best friends had vanished. One lost to death, the other to cowardice -

No. Not cowardice, grief was not cowardly. To pain. Lost to pain, and grief, and guilt. There was no way to bring either of them back - Theta was dead, and Koschei could be anywhere. Besides, even if she knew where he was, there would be no way to drag him back. He would come back in his own time.

* * *

“Do you even know how to drive this thing?” Ian hissed.

“Of course I do, Mr Chalkfield. I passed the test with excellent grades,” the stranger responded sharply.

“You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me! And it’s Chesterton, not Chalkfield, thank you very much.”

He leaned towards Ian angrily. “What do you know? You’re only a human. Haven’t even left your own galaxy! We did that _millennia_ ago, Mr Cheesefoot.” 

The two glared at each other, until Barbara - the other human he’d picked up by accident - broke them up. He pulled rather too hard on one of the levers, and sent the Tardis hurtling towards 12th-century Copenhagen. Oh well. He’d fix that problem when he’d dealt with this insidious little man.

* * *

Another encounter on Earth, a few decades later (from his perspective), went slightly better. Then again, several humans tried to shoot him. It could have been worse, he concluded.

“You want to _hire_ me?” the Professor asked. He’d decided to retire the name Koschei. He’d debated going by the Master, but had quickly decided that it was too melodramatic.

“Yes,” the Brigadier said shortly. “You weren’t our first choice. However, there weren’t many people other than you who were equipped to deal with regular alien occurrences. I hope you like UNIT, and I hope you don’t stay too long.” 

He stroked his goatee in an attempt to look pensive and smart. “You aren’t the most idiotic of the humans I’ve met. At least you have a sense of personal space, and you know your own name, although I do wish you’d ditch the guns.”

“We’re a military organisation. It rather defeats the point of a _military_ if we don’t have guns. Shall we begin?”

* * *

“Professor Song?”

The Professor shook his head. “I am merely the Professor. Why do you think there is a Song on the end of that?”

The young man trembled. “We sent a letter out asking fo... for Professor Song. You were the one who arrived, s-sir.”

He dusted down his velvet clothes. “Well, if you have the wrong person, I suppose you won’t mind if I leave? I have business to attend to.”

“Sir, we h-have a Cyberman infestation. If we don’t, uh, kick them out, we’ll - you know, we’ll - we’ll die. Can’t you - can’t you help us?”

“I suppose I could, but I only have so long. Do you have any engineering equipment? Or a laboratory?”

The young man shook his head. The Professor grimaced. “Well, this is going to be fun. It’s a shame Theta isn’t here - he’d know what to do.”

For a moment, the Professor looked sad. The emotion passed as quickly as it had appeared, though, and he was soon on his way.

* * *

“What’re _you_ doing here? I thought I’d got rid of you!” the Professor snarled. “Fuck off, Crispy.”

“Crispy? _Crispy?_ You - you stupid, infuriating, idiotic imbecile!” the deformed Time Lord hissed. “I’m not a piece of overcooked food! I am the Storm! Destroyer of Worlds! Harbinger of Doom! How _dare_ you call me Crispy?”

The Professor laughed at that. “I like winding you up. Really brings out the burnt flesh on your face, doesn’t it?”

The two looked at each other warily, as if waiting for something to blow up or someone to attack. Fair enough, really. Things were always getting destroyed around the Professor.

“It’s a shame I won’t remember this - this is excellent amusement for cold and rainy days. I suppose that happens when you meet your future incarnations, though. Can’t _wait_ to be you,” he said, and turned around, about to leave.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to disable my evil plan?” his raving counterpart insisted.

“I mean, I’ve got nothing better to do,” the Professor said with a long-suffering sigh. _Great! I’m going to enjoy this **so much!**_

* * *

“Why have you called me back to Gallifrey, Rani? I was happy kicking back in my Tardis with these sunglasses and my nice new jacket, and then you had to ruin it with socialisation.”

Honestly, some people.

The Rani frowned at him. “Koschei, I invited you back here because we’re on the eve of war. And don’t look at me like that. Your childish fun is not as important as a battle which could destroy Gallifrey. Honestly, grow up.”

“Oh, we’re doing our old names now, Ushas? I don’t care if there’s a war, anyway. I won’t fight,” he sniped back.

“Can’t you two just get along for once?” asked one of the Rani’s assistants. 

“NO!” they both yelled. Everyone else backed away.

“Goodbye, Ushas, and have fun with your war. I’m leaving to actually save some lives.”

“Koschei - before you go, you need to see someone. Urgently,” she said, dragging the Professor back into the room.

He scowled. “Fine. But it had better be quick.”

* * *

The Professor looked at the door, and sighed. The visitor should have arrived by now. He only had so much time left. New body, new temper - and he could already feel his frustration rising. This _experiment_ was taking far too long.

The door creaked, and slowly opened; a young man walked in. The Professor couldn’t see him clearly, but he looked oddly familiar. Gangly, with shoulder-length curls tied in a loose ponytail, and clothes that didn’t quite fit his wiry frame. He was grinning as he walked towards the Professor’s desk, face slowly becoming clearer -

The Professor stared. No, it couldn’t be - but it was. “Theta?”

The guest grinned. “‘Course.”

He didn’t say anything else. They must have resurrected him from the Matrix - but he looked older than when he died, in his late twenties or early thirties. A cloned body, and downloaded memories? It didn’t really matter. Theta was back.

* * *

“What’s your name?” one of the generals of Arctura asked. Some boring, backwater planet that the Daleks had invaded. Nothing special.

“Let’s get moving,” he hissed. “I don’t have time for small talk, unless you want to get yourself killed.”

“...you haven’t answered the question.”

He glared. There was no point trying to reason with this idiotic Arcturan soldier; those sorts never listened. The Doctor had run ahead, straight into the action, a whirlwind of youthful energy and weapons, slicing through Dalek upon Dalek. Dangerous and reckless. It would get him killed again.

* * *

“Chan - Professor Yana - tho?” Chantho asked. He’d got distracted again, hadn’t he? Oh well, it happened often. Nothing new.

“Chan - I found a watch - tho!” she said again, louder this time. 

“Well, pass it here, won’t you?” he said. “Is it open?”

“Chan - no - tho...”

He shrugged. “I may as well see what’s in there, I suppose.”

Gripping the fob watch, he pulled the two sections open with all the force he could muster. It split with a sharp crack, and he peered inside. Instead of a watch face, there was glowing golden energy - tendrils swirled around his body and wreathed his face in artron -

Artron! Of course - artron energy, which appeared after regeneration! He grinned. He remembered now, remembered his past life - and all the horrors of it.

_A desert, and an old man standing in the middle of it. Dusty orange sand whipped around him and the box he was staring at._

_“Hello,” someone murmured, and he flinched. A familiar man, a boy even - cold blue eyes and thick, wavy black hair. He was scrawny, and pale, and wore ill-fitting red clothes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days._

_“You look surprised. Did they not tell you I have a conscience? I think this form is quite fitting. Before you press that button, know that you will be irreversibly changed if you do. There are consequences.”_

_The old man frowned. “I don't want to. I don’t want to, but - there is no other way. And Gallifrey is less important than the universe.”_

_He sank to his knees. “I don’t want to. Believe me, I already regret this.”_

_He pressed the button. Gallifrey burnt._

* * *

The Professor stared at the woman in front of him. “What is your name again? I haven’t asked you.”

“Clara Oswald. You’re a twat, by the way.” she said.

“Oh, I’m the Professor. And we’ve never met, is it truly necessary to insult me like this?” he responded. Rather rude of her. _Humans_ these days. Honestly.

“Name tells me you’re either a pompous git, River Song, or both. Also, you are a twat. I’ve met you before, even if you don’t recognise me. Might take you a few centuries, but you will someday.”

The Professor glared at her, and said, “Why do people keep calling me River Song? Never heard of them. And where could you have _possibly_ met me before?”

“Why would I tell you that? It’s funny watching your confusion, you arsehole,” Clara said with a smirk.

The Professor was gaping. “Again with the insults!” he said, frustrated.

* * *

“Gah!”

He tripped and fell, face hitting concrete. Only three minutes into this body, and already injured. Still, he had another fourteen hours and fifty-seven minutes until he could cause any serious harm. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though. Ouch.

Before he could get up, his headache flared up again, and he winced in pain. He knew it would be good idea to stand, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember how to do it. The Professor groaned and cursed his regeneration sickness.

“You alright there, mate?” someone yelled from across the street. He winced. The loud noises _really_ weren’t helping.

“Do I look alright to you?” he said sarcastically. Sarcasm. Good. That meant he was getting better, probably.

“Yeah, you look bloody brilliant!” they said, definitely nearer this time. Female, if his hearing was right, which he highly doubted it was. They were definitely getting nearer, whoever they were, and he cursed. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

“I’m Donna, who are you? You’re a bloody mess right now, d’you want a hand there?” she added, still insufferably loud and cheery.

“The Professor, and my day has just been _thoroughly_ ruined. A hand would be appreciated, and then I’m gonna go punch a lamppost.”

“Sure, but can you explain the fat monsters floating in the air first? And what kind of name is ‘the Professor’?” she said. _Shit. This was going to take a while._

* * *

The Library was interesting, but the billions of living creatures thing was bugging him. How could it be possible? It was a Thursday, he wasn’t in the mood for a mystery right now.

“I don’t get it,” Donna said. He didn't either. Why couldn’t the universe let him sleep in for once? He might not need to, but sleep was fun.

Ten minutes later, having run away from the Vashta Nerada, he promptly ran into River Song. That... explained a lot. Not everything, though: the Clara issue was still bothering him. Also the Doctor. Always the Doctor.

“Professor. How good to see you again, although I still don’t see why you had to pick such a similar name to me. Everyone keeps confusing us,” River said calmly. She was dealing with the flesh-eating shadows remarkably well. He hoped he could keep his panic internal for however long this incident would take.

“...sorry, should I know you? Also, I’ve said that a lot lately. Have you got any decent catchphrases I could borrow?” he said, as smoothly as possible.

“Spoilers,” she said, and there was something sad in her eyes. He groaned. Not _another_ crossed timelines event. He was so sick of those.

* * *

“It’s nice to meet you again, under less strenuous circumstances,” the Professor said, attempting to strike up a conversation. He was still shaken by the fact that this woman was, to him, dead. Then again, most of his friends were. Most were also former. He wondered idly what was going on at the end of the universe. 

“Yes, sweetie, but it’s rather difficult to avoid life-and-death circumstances around me,” she said, grinning boldly. Was that flirting? He couldn’t tell.

“Same here. Also, people keep calling me you. Did you have that?” he asked. Curiosity had, for what must’ve been the eighteenth time this month, got the better of him.

“Yep,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement. “I propose a toast. To risky situations, and mistaken identities.”

“Sure,” he said. Maybe the alcohol would drown his misery. It had never worked before, and he doubted it would this time, either. Time Lord metabolism was what he blamed it on, but it was probably just his stubborn refusal to face his past lives’ trauma and pain.

What the hell. He had all night; why not get wasted?

* * *

“Hello, I’m Oswin, and you look like you’re in trouble.”

The comment came out of nowhere, and the Professor jumped. She was still getting used to how much more aware this body was than the last one, and had never been a fan of random voices in the dark.

“Oh, really?” she said, going for some trademark sarcasm. “I’m in a room full of deranged Daleks, and you think I _look_ like I’m in trouble? I’m in the middle of a massive crowd full of trouble.”

“Yeah, this is why I never liked you.”

Her voice sounded oddly familiar, and then it clicked - she was the Clara girl, the one she’d met in the bar! Of all the people to save her, it just _had_ to be Ozzie.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a mutual feeling,” she hissed back. Now to locate Oswin. She didn’t really want to, but that might be her only way out. And afterwards, maybe some tea to go with her confusion. How could Clara exist in multiple different worlds - for she was certain she’d met Clara several times before - like this? Several of her different bodies had died, too. What was going on?

* * *

She sighed. “Ozzie, when will you learn to stop running into danger? You’ve nearly been killed five times this week!”

“I’ll stop running into danger when you stop taking me there. And did you just show interest in my welfare?” Clara snarked back.

For Rassilon’s sake, this was _not_ the time or place for an argument! The Great Intelligence had just jumped into her time stream and was rewriting her entire life, and she was helpless to stop it. All of a sudden, she disappeared and was replaced with a strange young man who looked severely confused.

“Er, hi? I think this timeline just got rewritten, we should probably fix that. I’m the Doctor, by the way, I’m sure you’ve heard all about me,” he said, stumbling through his words. He looked at Clara. “Well? Are we going to get out of this mess, or are you going to stare at me? It’s not an unreasonable request, you know. Go jump in that timestream, why don’t you?”

“...yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re supposed to be dead, I think. Also, why would I want to save the Professor? She’s really annoying.”

“If you don’t, time will unravel and you'll - well, you’ll die.”

Clara groaned, and walked over to the rip in space-time. “Well, here goes. At least I get to insult her along the way, I guess.”

The Doctor vanished, and the timeline was restored, with much grumbling and insulting.

* * *

“Nice place you’ve got here,” River said. The Professor was probably smirking.

“Yeah, I stole it myself.”

Definitely smirking. “Wish I had a Tardis. It would make escaping prison far easier.”

“Well, this one’s mine. And besides, you’ve got a vortex manipulator. What more could you possibly want?” the Professor said. _Cheap and nasty time travel,_ she thought, glad that she’d probably never use it. “Are we married?”

“I think so, at least seventeen times. None of them are recognised on Earth, but seven of them would count on Gallifrey. Why do you ask?” she wondered.

“I was... curious, I guess. Never really bothered with marriages. Besides, I’ve married many people accidentally, or to save my life, but none of them were ever really... genuine. I planned on marrying, once, but he died.”

River wasn’t going to ask who ‘he’ was. They both had their demons, and she was happy to respect that.

* * *

The Professor looked around him, waiting for his companions to arrive. They were definitely late. If he’d still been working at St Luke’s University they would’ve been on time. Sheffield. You never knew what you were going to get, and in this case you got annoyingly late friends. Still, it was better than being alone. Anything was better than the awful period of time between Gallifrey and Earth that he’d spent most of his life trying to erase from his memories. Leaving Gallifrey should have felt good, but mostly it was just -

Tiring. Everything was tiring, life most of all. He was so very, very tired.

“Professor!” Yaz yelled, waking him up from his reminiscing. She was grinning, and had a cup of coffee in her hand for him.

“Where are the others?” he asked mildly. It was cold here, and he was glad for the drink; his clothes were a little too thin.

“Not sure,” she said, shrugging. “Ryan said they’d be here by ten, but he’s never on time. Besides, it’s already 10:06, and I can’t see them anywhere.”

“Oh well. How about we go now, and come back later? After all, I have a time machine. We could leave for ten years and no-one would ever know,” the Professor suggested, leaning back against the wall. He had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume that any companions or events I haven’t mentioned happened as they did in the show, including River’s backstory. Writing all that out would’ve taken way too long. And besides, most people already know that (sorry if you don’t).


	2. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same thing, but the Master dies, not the Doctor.

It was just another day at UNIT, and there were bullets flying all over the place -

Okay, so not the _most_ ordinary day, but it wasn't like anybody had attempted to take over the Earth today (just London, and although the Master had showed up, it wasn't actually his fault for once) - and nobody had die.

Before he could escape the danger in the room, the Doctor felt a bullet whistle past him and winced at the loud clang it made as it ricocheted off the wall. The sudden disturbance distracted him and all thoughts of leaving abandoned him. Right now, he was more concerned with getting out alive.

“Doctor,” somebody said, although he couldn't make out who it was amidst the smoke and the guns. “Doctor,” they said again, and limped closer to him, visibly injured. They must have been shot. He sighed. There would be complaints to the Brigadier for this. 

The stranger walked into his field of vision, and leaned against the wall, struggling for breath. He could see who it was now, and he didn’t like it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the Master, trying to sound confused more than worried. “I thought you were locked up.”

Predictably, the Master said, “I escaped.”

Nothing out of the ordinary there, then. “Are you injured?” he said. The Master looked paler than usual, and there was blood running down his left leg. If he had any other wounds he wasn’t showing it.

“What does it look like?” he snapped. “I-”

He caught himself before he fell. The Doctor looked closer at him. He wasn’t acting normal; he was brittle, and on edge. Unusual behaviour.

“It’s not just the leg, is it?” he asked quietly. The Master shook his head and tried to turn away, but the Doctor caught him, and looked at him sharply.

“I was shot in the chest as well,” he admitted. “Straight through the left heart. I don’t know who it was, but...”

The Doctor cursed. “Can you regenerate?”

He didn’t need to look at his old friend to know the answer. “Why do you always lie? Just this once, couldn’t you tell me the truth? I had _no idea_ you were on your last regeneration! That’s not something you just _forget_ to tell people!”

“It doesn’t matter, not anymore. Doesn't matter. Doesn’t matter-”

He fell. The Doctor tried to walk over to him, but slipped on the blood-soaked floor and hit his head on the wall. Before he could react, do anything, he blacked out.

* * *

When he woke up, it was evening. Judging by the clock on the wall, he’d been out for five hours. He wondered what happened for him to be knocked out, and where everyone else was. Usually people were running round UNIT constantly. But not right now. It was too quiet here.

And then he remembered. Remembered what had happened, and winced. _Fighting. Bullets. Soldiers running around, not stopping to tell the difference between friend or foe. The Master -_

The Master. Dead. It sounded wrong in his mind, sour and strange and not-quite-there. He looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Same room, and a bandage wrapped round his head. He ran a hand over it, and winced - still sore. He probably should have guessed that.

The door creaked open, but nobody walked in; it must have been the wind. He looked to the side, where he’d last seen the Master, and saw no change - the floor was stained orange-red, as was the wall, and the body still slumped against it.

He’d have to take the Master back to Gallifrey. No use leaving him here, for the humans. But his Tardis was broken. He could call Brax or Ushas, go back via one of them. Yes, that would be the best solution.

* * *

“Why are you here?” Ushas asked irritably. “I hope you haven’t come to Gallifrey just to wind me up again.”

He shrugged and looked away, not saying anything.

“Oh, for Rassilon’s sake, what have you done now?”

“I-” the Doctor began, but broke off, choking on his own voice. “Things went wrong.”

“That’s practically the status quo with you, what’s your point?”

“The Master died.”

It was out before he could think, and saying it really drove home the reality, the cold, harsh truth. He’d been avoiding this conversation for as long as possible...

But this was the whole reason he called Ushas, the whole reason he came here in the first place. Ushas was staring at him; though it was difficult to shock her, telling her one of her oldest (and only, he thought snidely) friends had died was enough to surprise anyone.

“How?”

The Doctor turned away. That was one conversation he refused to have right now.

* * *

He woke up in a bright, harsh room. Most Gallifreyan buildings looked either too old to still be standing, or so futuristic they were blinding. He guessed this was the latter. Today was -

A funeral. A series of archaic, stuffy old rules and rites to “send off” the deceased Time Lord. He knew the Master would have much preferred something loud and disruptive - like being sent off to space in a rocket, just to waste resources - but of course Gallifrey wasn’t having that. Unsurprising, really.

Ushas walked into the room, blinking from the darkness in the corridor. “Get dressed,” she said sharply, “and don’t wear your Earth clothes, or I’ll punch you.”

Typical. But he agreed, because he wasn’t in the mood for a broken nose. By the time he was prepared (when alone, full Gallifreyan robes typically took at least two hours to put on), it was midday and the sun was burning down on the few who had attended.

It was simple enough: a casket, a gravestone, a few irritating speeches. It was so different to Earth that he felt almost lost. Life seemed to be nothing but losses at the moment.

He wasn’t sure how much he could take.

* * *

The Doctor grinned. “How do I look?”

Ushas didn’t look so happy. “You look terrible.”

Maybe she was just annoyed that he’d barged into her room in the middle of the night. Bizarrely, some people didn’t seem to like that.

Finally, she snapped. “You’re covered in blood! What the _hell_ happened to you? People don’t just randomly die, not on Gallifrey.”

He shrugged, and said, “I don’t really remember, it’s all a bit of a blur. Did I regenerate?”

“Yes! And I’m worried about that, because the only plausible explanation for that is that you killed yourself.”

The Doctor looked at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Who else could make such a mess of death?”

“Well, that’s rather odd. Sorry, must dash!”

She looked despairingly at his shrinking figure. That man would get himself killed for good one day, and he wouldn't even know what had hit him.

* * *

Amidst all the chaos, he’d somehow managed to blow up the Council, get arrested twice, get released from jail twice and nearly destroy Gallifrey in the process. For such a dusty, boring planet, Gallifrey was remarkably accident prone. Oh, and he’d picked up an annoying(ly clever) young Time Lady called Romana, but that was besides the point. 

Places to go! People to see! Planets to avoid for at least two regenerations! Specifically Earth and Gallifrey, but there were plenty of other locations not to visit. Earth, after the events of his last regeneration, was not somewhere he wanted to go.

Which was rather a shame, because they had excellent scarves.

* * *

The Tardis was rather lonely when you had no-one to fill it up, the Doctor thought. Especially when your memories were the worst companions anyone could possibly have. He was subject to frequent nightmares, but to face the past was almost unthinkable.

This particular room was the wardrobe area, and contained nothing but reminders of his past adventures. Which would not be so bad if the people involved in them were still alive.

He absentmindedly ran a hand through a scarf he’d abandoned in the haze of post-regeneration. It was wearing thin, though he’d be the last to admit it.

The lies were wearing thin too. How many excuses to stay away from Gallifrey? How many unopened letters from Earth? In his last body he’d simply thrown them away and said, “Laters!”.

But the odious stack of paper didn’t magically disappear. The exasperated messages from the Time Lords piled up. By now, it was impossible to deny the truth - he had to go back. Before he lost his nerve.

* * *

Las Vegas, as it turned out, was a good place to start. Nobody commented on his multicoloured outfit, nobody there recognised him, and best of all, there was alcohol. Which was a far easier coping mechanism than talking to people.

America wasn’t so bad. England, though? Not a chance. No, he’d stay here in this energetic bubble, and if necessary, maybe explore around a bit. There was probably an alien lurking around somewhere. In fact, that cat in the alleyway looked suspiciously nervous.

First rule of the Doctor: the Doctor lies. First rule of cats: be confident, or someone will kick you.

Maybe the cat was a Zygon. That would explain a lot. Or maybe, his sensible internal voice said, he was drunk and the cat was a cat.

Which was boring, so he went to investigate.

* * *

The Doctor did not appreciate guns. He appreciated snarky teenagers with homemade explosives even less, and quietly ignored the fact that it was exactly the sort of thing he would do. No need to look irresponsible and immoral (although, he thought, it wasn’t that immoral if nobody got hurt).

Ace was the first companion he’d had the strength to pick up from England in four regenerations, and definitely a rushed choice. Although she was smart, she was also trigger-happy.

He reminded himself forcefully that this was _not_ a good quality. He almost convinced himself, too.

* * *

War, as always, was on the horizon. He refused, absolutely refused, to get involved again. He had better things to do. For example, saving lives. But Gallifrey was insistent, and he was in debt to Romana, after an awkward situation with a robot and some curtains.

The hologram flickered to life, and the Tardis hummed. He liked Romana, more than most people. Then again, most people were annoying humans or murderers. Tough competition.

Romana nodded curtly at him. “Doctor.”

“Yes, that is my name,” he said, cautious about what he said. _Don’t bring up the Time War,_ he silently begged. “Why are you here, Romana?”

“Another Dalek attack. Doctor, we _need_ you. Gallifrey and its outposts are crumbling as we speak, because Gallifrey won’t fight without the Council's agreement, and they won’t agree without you!”

“And? I’m not getting involved, Romana. Not again.”

“Spoken like a true Time Lord, Doctor. How deeply ironic, that the man holding up the non-interference policy is the most scheming, interfering person Gallifrey’s ever seen,” she said.

“I still say no.”

“And I still say this is the only way!” 

“I will _not_ fight!” he roared. “That is my final word, Romana, and nothing you say will change my mind!”

Romana turned away, and the hologram flickered out.

* * *

“You did nothing. We did nothing. And now we have an egotistical megalomaniac heading an impossible war that will probably rip apart the entire universe! Fantastic!” the Rani said. She looked awfully judgmental.

“I never said I was proud of my decision,” he said. He sounded weary, like he was aging faster than usual. Given all the mangled timelines, he could well be.

“You kept it until you died. Your choices killed you, Doctor, you went to your death instead of changing. How could you say that you weren’t secure in that decision? It doesn’t matter what you think now, the damage is done.”

He groaned. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

“You're a damned fool, Doctor.”

“I’m not the Doctor anymore.”

“Why? Are your precious moralities damaged?”

He stormed off before he did something stupid, like punch someone.

* * *

“Doctor?”

Rose’s voice echoed through the corridors, but he’d locked himself in the console room and couldn't hear her. Jack had knocked on the door several times. The hammering had only frustrated him more.

“Doctor?” she called again, sounding more urgent, more stressed. “Where are you?”

He cursed. This, this was entirely the wrong time for her to be going after him. Couldn’t he have a little peace occasionally? Especially when he was like -

He grabbed the Tardis manual from its place on the jump seat, and wrenched the Tardis doors open, staring out into a black hole. It was dark, so very dark - light streaming into the well of gravity, crushing planets and rocks and asteroids and all the unwanted space debris.

In his anger at the Tardis for breaking and the manual for absolutely _not_ helping and Rose and Jack and absolutely _everything,_ he hurled the manual into the black hole and stood there for gods knew how long, staring at the mindless destruction before him.

After destroying Gallifrey, he thought he understood. The horror of destruction - but also the impossible, disgusting _beauty_ of it. It was everything and nothing all at once, light and dark battling, and of course, darkness - in the end - always won. Entropy had the last laugh, chaos ruled everything.

The Master, he thought, would be proud.

* * *

“Doctor, aren’t you going to talk to me?” Rose asked again, and again, and again. He felt numb. Hollow. A Russian doll, except the inside had been carved out and set on fire and now he felt as though nothing was _right_ anymore.

And it wasn’t. Where there should be the swirls of minds inhabiting the Vortex, Time Lords filling the tangled, strangled web of Time, there was nothing but a thrumming, discordant emptiness. This body was far more aware of Time than most regenerations, more adept at using and feeling time sense. For once, sorting through the mess of Time felt like an innate ability and not a clumsy, awkward skill he’d just about mastered.

“No,” he said, and wandered off. As he went through the corridors of the Tardis, he purposefully traced a labyrinthine path no human could track. Theseus and the Minotaur, except not.

Jack’s bedroom turned up after several long hours, and though he was silent as could be, the Tardis clearly wanted him to talk. The door creaked open, the Tardis amplifying every last sound. He groaned, and walked into the bedroom.

“Jack? Tardis wants me to talk.”

Jack appeared all of a sudden. “Yeah, we’ve been worried about you.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Seriously? That’s exactly the problem! You think we hate you, or something? You’re wrong. People care, Doctor. And you’ve barely spoken to us in months. We just want you to be okay.”

The Doctor buried his his head in his hands. “Go _away_ , Jack.”

“Fine. But talk to us sometime, please? Just so we know you’re not dead or anything.”

He walked out the room, determined to remove that conversation from his mind.

* * *

The Doctor stared at the monitor screen, unsure of what to do. Martha was -

Gone. And gods knew he’d treated her badly, but -

She was gone. Maybe he should take up a hobby, find something new. Or some _one_ \- he hardly had a lot of friends. The raccoon in Hyde Park seemed friendly, and less intimidating than most humans.

Or not. The Tardis bleeped again, seemingly saying, _I’m still here._

 _I know you are,_ he tapped out against the console. _But you’re not alive the same way. I love, I do, but I need people._

The Tardis console sparked, and he pulled his hand away, wincing. _See? You can’t talk, can you?_

The holoprojector burst to life, and he found himself face to face with shifting faces. Everyone he’d met, too many friends to count. The hologram settled, and he confronted whichever of his demons had appeared.

Bright blue eyes, and dark hair. It could hardly be anyone else. The Tardis flicked through the Master’s other regenerations. A whole cycle.

He swallowed. _Can’t you ever leave well enough alone?_

The Tardis beeped. Of course not.

He left the console, headed for his bedroom. There was no way Sexy would let him there, not after their snide conversation. Rubbing his face with his hand, he bowed his head.

No need to let her see him cry. She clearly didn’t care right now.

* * *

“Checkmate, I win, now _get off this planet_ ,” he hissed at the K’lrovi. “I believe we had a deal?”

This was not exactly his normal style. A game of chess to save the planet sounded much more like the crafty gamble of his seventh life. Or, quite possibly, the War Doctor. Nothing to lose back then, so why not? Now, though, it was not a ruined warscape and a few dying Time Lords at risk, it was an entire species. And his friends. 

Amy and Rory was not a price he was willing to pay. This was a game to be won, with all the ruthlessness and trickery he needed. The lives of a bloodthirsty, unforgiving group of murderers? They were a perfectly acceptable loss.

And so they left. The K’lrovi were, whilst nasty, were a strict, honourable, law-abiding species. Death was fine; betrayal was not. He’d done the calculation, weighed their crimes against their heroics, and they had been ruled worthy of saving. Fate by mathematics. Though sending them home in disgrace was a death of its own.

The leader bowed briefly, before going into their ship and vanishing, leaving behind the Doctor, the Nh’iv-aou, and the Ponds. A planet saved, a job done. Time to leave, before something else went wrong.

* * *

Death, really, was inevitable. There was no chance of Clara coming back; though he’d arrived at Trenzalore, there was no way he’d even begin to think of taking her with him. No, she was on Earth, mind wiped, enjoying Christmas with her family.

It was kinder than letting her see _this._ He’d turned into a monster: kill the armies, save the humans, and pay the price of his already burdened conscience. 

Darker hues indeed.

He was old now, how funny that what killed him would be old age. Looking down at Handles, he smiled slightly. “Funny, isn’t it? I ran away from Gallifrey to make things better, and now look at me. Always be kind, eh?”

Handles stayed silent. This death would be pathetic, and miserable, and a sordid affair. The great, invincible Doctor, killed by old age. Ha! 

_Now there’s something for you to laugh about, Master._


	3. Déjà vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two meet at last.

The Professor looked up to see an awkward, gangly man standing in the doorway.

“How did you get on my Tardis?” he asked sharply. “You shouldn’t be here. You _can’t_ be here, you don’t have a key.”

The stranger grinned, and passed him a piece of paper. “Meet me at that location, on that day, in that length of time.”

His gaze softened slightly. “You’ll understand when you get there.”

“You still haven’t explained what you’ve done to get here,” he snapped, “are you going to say anything or are you just going to stand there goofily?”

“Why, I can’t go around revealing _all_ my secrets,” the trespasser said, leaning on a polished cane. “It’s not as fun otherwise.”

The Professor scowled. “I suppose you like frustrating people?”

“Most people don’t have a problem with not knowing absolutely everything,” he said, leaning against the wall lazily. “I certai-”

He burst into a fit of coughing, frail body failing him. “I’m sorry, I-”

He regained his breath, but he looked shaken. “Sorry, I need to...”

“Leave?” the Professor asked, raising an eyebrow icily.

“Oh, yes, that would be it. Goodbye, then.”

The Professor nodded, and he stepped out the Tardis carefully. Good riddance.

* * *

The Professor clenched the battered, torn piece of paper in his right hand, and formed his face into something resembling calm. There was no use in panicking now; he was doing this. He had to. Something told him this was a paradox.

Paradoxes. Always there when you never wanted them. Well, he’d get answers, whether he liked it or not. “Come on, old girl. Places to go. People to see.”

She whirred gently under his hands, and he typed the coordinates into the Tardis with shaking fingers. Why, why was he so nervous?

The Tardis jolted, and threw him back against the wall. “Ow! What did I do this time?”

Nothing. His time machine lurched again, and there was the sudden sensation of free fall, although he hadn’t moved.

So a parallel universe. Or possibly a different variation of this timeline. Not much difference, really.

He yanked the door open, cautious, and was met by a dying planet and an awfully familiar old man leaning on an awfully familiar cane.

* * *

The Doctor stared at the stranger. “Um, did you just...”

“I think there’s already a rip here,” the stranger said. “Good to meet you at last. Now, could I have some explanations?”

“Sorry, not a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Well, that’s just _great,_ isn’t it, because guess what? Nor do I!” they snapped back.

“So,” said the Doctor, “maybe some introductions are in order? I’m the, er...” Oh, blast this old memory. “I’m - oh, yes, I’m the Doctor!”

“And I’m the Professor. You know, you remind me of someone. Now who was it... oh, such a long time ago now. I think it was an old friend of mine. Theta.”

The Doctor gasped. “But... I’m Theta.”

“Theta Sigma died.”

“Not in this universe, apparently.”

“Well, this is awkward. See, I ran away from Gallifrey after you died, then I didn’t have to face-” The Professor broke off.

“Not exactly what happened to me. I lost... a friend, I suppose, of mine. The Master. He - well, he died.”

“Never met anyone called the Master, sorry.”

The Doctor coughed. “His name was - damn this old body! It makes everything so much harder - sorry, got distracted. Anyway, what I meant to say was that he used to go by Koschei. Sound familiar?”

Yes. Yes, it very much did. “Well, hello, old friend. How time flies when one of us is dead.”

The Professor grinned. “How time flies, indeed.”

* * *

“So... you’re not evil?”

“Nope, “ said the Mas - no, the Professor. “I’m kinda like you in my timeline. I certainly never had any Master.”

The Doctor grinned. “It’s... odd, but still nice to meet you.”

“And you, _Doctor_. Gods, I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He brushed hair out of the Professor’s eyes. It felt so natural and so alien, simultaneously, to be here, in front of the Master, living. Breathing.

And _not_ the person he’d loved. He kept on telling himself that. Besides, even if there was some possibility -

He was dying. He. Was. Dying.

No ifs and buts about it.

* * *

“You know... you could come with me.” He swallowed; what was he saying? “See the universe together, for once.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Maybe.”

Rejection. It tasted bitter and heavy on his tongue, like lead. Of course. Stupid idea. Stupid person.

“Look, it’s not personal. A lot of stuff’s going on.”

The Professor looked at him. “Is this ‘cause all you can see is the Master?”

The Doctor stumbled back. “No!”

“Then _why?_ We could see the stars, like we always wanted to!”

“I barely even know you.”

“You’ve known me for long enough, I am the person that you lost... Doctor, please. There’s nobody else _left._ ”

His hearts were aching, but he _couldn’t._ It was not a choice. “No.”

The Professor stalked out the room, just as catlike as the Master. No. It would be unfair.

* * *

“Well, I need you to give this to my past self because... reasons.”

The Doctor nodded. “Can do - argh!” He tripped over, old body giving out on him again.

“Oh gods, what’s wrong?” the Professor hissed.

“N-normal stuff,” he choked out. “I’m just, uh, dying.”

“Wait. Have you been lying to me the whole time? Are you telling me that you turned me away because you didn’t want me to see you like this?”

“Er,” the Doctor said weakly.

“Gods, you’re a fucking _idiot,_ ” said the Professor, and picked him up. “Right then. Regenerate.”

“C-can’t,” he hissed out. “End of... my... cycle.”

“Are you putting effort into dying? How about I lend you some regeneration energy, hm?”

“Won’t... get me - me back my cycle though.”

The Professor sniffed. “Well, first you should deliver that note to me. Then we’ll think about healing you.”

* * *

He found himself in front of the crack in the wall. “I’m not - Master - this isn’t how it-”

“I don’t care. You live. I’ve lost you before, I refuse to lose you again.”

The Doctor winced. “Wait, I mean Professor.”

“It’s fine. Now,” he said, staring at the wall, “give me back my Theta.”

Nobody crossed Koschei Oakdown, regardless of dimension.

* * *

The Doctor hugged him tightly. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Travel with me.”

“As equals?” he asked. “And I expect getting-to-know-each-other time.”

“Something like that,” the Professor said, “and maybe drag you through a few hospitals on the way.”

“You’re not the person I knew,” said the Doctor. “You!re not a replacement, you understand?”

“Of course I do,” he said, looking at the Doctor with awfully familiar resentment and bitterness. “I’m not promising much. Just give it a chance, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor echoed. “Yeah.”


End file.
